Mu Shi'an examined the freshly woven fishing net, carefully checking its quality. There didn't seem to be any major issues.
To test it more thoroughly, he wove an additional section, and the final product turned out exceptionally well.
Thanks to the preset machine, every mesh was nearly identical in size—far more precise than handwoven nets.
"Mu Shi'an, you're amazing! Do you have any idea how much trouble this machine will save us?" Song Nianchu exclaimed excitedly, throwing her arms around him.
Before he could even register the embrace, the faint, clean scent of soap from her skin reached him, carrying a subtle fragrance.
The softness of her against him left Mu Shi'an momentarily stunned. After a pause, he hesitantly raised his hands, about to return the hug—
But in the next moment, Song Nianchu had already pulled away.
Mu Shi'an’s half-raised hands dropped awkwardly back to his sides.
Unaware of his reaction, Song Nianchu turned her attention to the net-weaving machine, testing its operation herself.
It was simple to use, almost effortless—even someone without schooling could master it after a few tries.
For a machine to be practical, it needed not only functionality but also ease of operation to ensure widespread adoption.
The more Song Nianchu experimented, the more impressed she became. The speed at which it wove nets was incomparably faster than manual labor.
"Mu Shi'an, what are your plans for this machine?" she asked, her eyes gleaming as she looked up at him.
"Plans? What do you mean?" Mu Shi'an was momentarily confused.
"How much are you planning to sell it for?" she clarified bluntly.
"Sell it? I never really thought about that. I built it because hand-weaving was too slow. Since we’re new here and not skilled enough, we barely earn any work points for a full day’s labor," he explained.
"So you made this machine just to earn a few more work points?" Song Nianchu was taken aback.
"Yeah," Mu Shi'an nodded.
"Classic engineer—only cares about functionality, completely ignores marketing and business," she muttered under her breath.
"What?" He didn’t quite catch her words.
"Nothing," she shook her head quickly, then fixed him with a serious gaze.
"Do you realize there isn’t a single net-weaving machine like this in the entire county’s fishing gear factories?"
"And?" Mu Shi'an asked.
"And that means your machine is pioneering mechanized net-weaving for the whole county! The entire county. Just imagine the market potential!" Song Nianchu could practically feel her entrepreneurial instincts stirring.
"Market? Are you thinking of speculative trading?" Mu Shi'an tensed.
"Don’t say that! That’s not something to joke about," Song Nianchu immediately clamped a hand over his mouth.
Mu Shi'an nodded, signaling he wouldn’t repeat it.
Only then did she release him.
"If it’s not that… then why mention the market?" he asked, carefully avoiding the forbidden phrase under her warning look.
"The market can be official or unofficial. We can’t touch the unofficial one, so we’ll focus on the official," she replied, her eyes curving into crescents with a bright smile.
"You want to collaborate with the fishing gear factory?" Mu Shi'an finally grasped her intention.
"No—I want to start our own fishing gear factory!" Song Nianchu declared, enunciating each word.
"You still want to go into business?" Mu Shi'an frowned.
Their families had been sent down precisely because of that.
"Not me personally—the village will run it," she clarified, well aware of the era’s collective economy.
Even the best ideas had to align with communal ownership. Less profit, but far safer.
"You’re proposing to build a fishing gear factory in the village?" Mu Shi'an realized belatedly.
"Yes!" She nodded emphatically.
Why hand over such a valuable machine to others when they could keep it for themselves?
"I don’t know much about business. Do whatever you think is best," Mu Shi'an said. He’d never had an interest in commerce—his father had always handled their family’s affairs.
"So you’re handing me full authority?" Song Nianchu’s eyes sparkled.
"Mm." He nodded.
"Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your invention gets the recognition it deserves!" She thumped her chest in a spirited vow.
Mu Shi'an thought she might be overestimating things—it was just a simple tool, hardly something to "bring glory to." But her eyes shone so brilliantly that he couldn’t bring himself to dampen her enthusiasm. He simply nodded again.
"Mu Shi'an, make a few more of these machines at home. I need to go out for a bit," Song Nianchu said, her mind already buzzing with a preliminary plan. Now, she needed seed funding.
Before Mu Shi'an could respond, she had already dashed out of the courtyard.
He glanced at the machine. If it made her this happy, it had already served its purpose well.
Carefully moving the device aside, Mu Shi'an picked up his saw again.
"……"
After leaving home, Song Nianchu sought out Wu Zhenggui.
First, she secured leave for Mu Shi'an, then mentioned her trip to the county.
Wu Zhenggui’s brows knitted into a deep frown.
"A-Chu, I know newlyweds are all wrapped up in each other, but you can’t run the man ragged," he said, though he felt awkward broaching the subject. Still, with Song Nianchu’s parents gone, he, as village head, had to step in.
Mu Shi'an was a former capitalist’s son—delicate and unused to hard labor. If Song Nianchu wore him out too soon, where would she find another man as handsome as him?
"…What?" Song Nianchu blinked, then flushed scarlet when his meaning sank in.
"Uncle Zhenggui, what nonsense! This is serious business!"
"I know your father’s dying wish was for you to continue the Song family line. That is serious business. But men and women are different—men… well, they can wear out if overused," Wu Zhenggui whispered conspiratorially.
Song Nianchu: "……"
What did I just hear?!
"Wear out"?!
I haven’t even—
Ugh!
Now even she was thinking like the village head.
"Uncle Zhenggui, I understand. I’ll be more careful—no more overdoing it," she conceded, realizing explanations would only dig her deeper.
"Remember, this is the last time," Wu Zhenggui said sternly.
"Fine, fine, I promise—this is absolutely the last time," Song Nianchu vowed, raising three fingers.
